Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
One Hundred and Fifty-Five Sonnets - 61. strangers
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Sonnet No. 121
Who among us will stop to consider
The pull of the crush; the ordinary;
And the pulsing shot of the calendar
Witnessed through slots of the momentary.
In a joy not many can understand,
I like to shop the day before Thanksgiving –
The Wednesday evening supermarket, and,
Those hurried and harried pull my heartstring.
For these are of the moments no one writes,
What slips common purpose of sympathy
Farther away from the will that recites
The dull, dead fade slipping to apathy.
But – Wednesday night, let's stand with laced fingers,
And feel bound through love to all those strangers.
Sonnet No. 122
Love is a buoy that floats; that can lift
Deepest thoughts from the bottom of despair –
Love is the anchor stopping boats adrift
From letting their keels wander unaware.
So drowsy, my eyes want to close, but don't,
For in their searing state through the darkness,
Starlight sought is the one thing that I won't
Have any chance to meet with like success.
With line cast on your marker, on your bell,
My bow points to safety and to harbor,
Where in port, perhaps I can rest a spell,
Once sky/water; hope/destiny might blur.
Dreams fix me and make me a permanent mark –
O Love, raise a great star from my feeble spark.
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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